


Precipice

by AngelQueen



Series: A Matter of Timing [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Big Bang Challenge, Character Death, F/M, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Mind Rape, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 01:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10821015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen/pseuds/AngelQueen
Summary: When Padmé goes into labor at the moment of Mace Windu's death, everything changes. Now Anakin must get himself under control, rescue his newborn children, and get to safety - while outrunning a furious Darth Sidious and the newborn Empire.





	Precipice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jerseydevious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerseydevious/gifts).



> Written for the [Star Wars Big Bang on Tumblr](https://swbigbang.tumblr.com).
> 
> The warning for Mind Rape connects with Inappropriate Use of the Force, though it's ultimately not much more graphic than what was shown in _The Clone Wars_. Still, if that's a trigger for you, you might want to turn back now. 
> 
> Many, many thanks to [Zanne](http://paperchamomiles.tumblr.com) for the excellent beta, and to K Mary for the artwork, which will be linked to this fic soon.
> 
> This fic was also inspired partially by a plot bunny mentioned by jerseydevious on Tumblr, located [here](http://jerseydevious.tumblr.com/post/147979506622/dream-au-padme-goes-into-labor-as-mace-windu). Many more thanks to jerseydevious for letting me write this story based on the prompt!

In the years to come, Anakin Skywalker would look back on these few minutes and still not be able to make complete sense of them, such was the chaos that had engulfed all aspects of his life. Watching Mace Windu hold Palpatine in a stalemate of burning plasma and violent blue lightning, hearing both their howls for assistance, and _knowing_ that an impossible choice lay before him.

Palpatine was the Sith Lord the Jedi had been hunting for the better part of thirteen years. Palpatine sought to destroy the Republic and the Jedi Order. Palpatine was dangerous, a deadly threat to all they sought to preserve.

Palpatine had the power to save Padmé’s life. 

Everything happened so quickly that Anakin could never fully comprehend it. One minute Palpatine was whimpering for mercy, Master Windu’s blade was swinging down towards the man’s head with a disturbing gleam in his eye, and suddenly Anakin’s own lightsaber was there, ignited and cutting through the Jedi Master’s arm. Then in the blink of an eye, lightning engulfed him and he was sailing out the window, his scream echoing in the cold, crisp wind.

Anakin felt his knees wobble, and he could feel himself ready to collapse because _oh Force_ what _had he done_ –

Then he felt Padmé’s pain, her distress, radiating deep into his bones. He froze, his shock sending him into even higher levels of sheer panic. He was so focused on directing his senses toward his wife that it took him a moment to realize that Palpatine was speaking. 

 

“… have fulfilled your destiny, Anakin. Become my apprentice…”

Just a few minutes before, Anakin had been vaguely aware of this possibility, of submitting himself to the teachings of the Sith in order to learn the power to stop death and save his wife. Now it was too late. He could feel her pain, her terror, could sense their child’s impending arrival. There was no time. No time to submit, no time to do whatever Palpatine wanted, no time to learn. 

Not listening any further, Anakin turned his back on Palpatine, on the promises that had been poured into his ears for days, now useless, and ran, a single word on his lips. He didn’t even notice that he’d had to jump over the corpses of three other Jedi Masters on his way out the door.

* * *

In the years to come, Darth Sidious would look back on these few minutes and admit, if only to himself, that he acted… impulsively. Being in the full grip of the Dark Side, exulting in his victory of having _finally_ dispatched that self-righteous nuisance, Mace Windu, and having the Chosen One in his grip once and for all, his normally sharp mind was clouded by the heady, intoxicating sensation of triumph.

So when Anakin suddenly raced out of his office, a breathless whisper of, “Padmé!” slipping past his lips, Sidious was… irritated, to say the least. 

_Damn that woman_ , he thought, a snarl twisting his lips. _Damn her and damn her whelp!_

He crossed the room at a quick pace to slip behind his desk. He would take care of this issue, end it permanently. She would not escape the fate meant for her, and then he would have the Chosen One’s unquestioning allegiance. Sith did not share their apprentices with wives and brats, after all. 

It only took a few touches to the keypad, and he suddenly found himself staring at CC-1010, known more widely as Commander Fox, the leader of the Coruscant Guard. 

“Chancellor, good evening,” the clone greeted him solemnly. “Do you require assistance?”

“Commander Fox,” Sidious replied, ignoring the niceties. “We have a situation. Execute Special Order Sixty-Seven.”

There was no easily discernable change in the clone. Fox was, by nature, a brisk, somber man. Nonetheless, Sidious knew how to read other beings, and had no problem noticing the shift in the other man’s posture, the razor sharp glint that entered his dark eyes. He could almost hear the order downloading into the clone’s brain.

_In the event of a Senator acting against the interests of the Republic and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Chancellor, Republic commanders will remove said Senator by lethal force. That Senator’s vote and authority will then revert to the discretion of the Supreme Chancellor until a new Senator is nominated from the sector in question._

“Acknowledged, my lord,” Fox responded crisply. “Target?”

“Senator Padmé Amidala.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Fox then vanished, leaving Sidious to open up a new comm channel. It was easy to know where to begin with this next round of communications, he thought gleefully.

“Commander Cody, the time has come. Execute Order Sixty-Six.”

* * *

Terror resolutely refused to release its grip on Anakin’s mind as he tore through the shuttle lanes of Coruscant. Ignoring the frantic, concerned trills and beeps from Artoo, he guided his fighter through the various ‘scrapers of the city planet like a madman. 

The trip from the Senate and the Chancellor’s offices to Padmé’s apartment was normally a short one, so Anakin had hope of getting there in time to help her. She just had to hold on until he got –

A blaster shot flew past his fighter on his left, nearly clipping the wing of his fighter. “What the –” Anakin started. “Artoo?”

The responding binary shriek was colorful, but explanatory. 

“Clone patrol?” he repeated. “What the kriff are they doing?” Why would the clones open fire on what was obviously a Jedi Starfighter? “Open a comm channel,” he ordered the astromech. When he heard the confirming beep from the droid, he spoke over the channel, “This is Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. Cease fire! I repeat, this is Anakin Skywalker on an important mission for the Senate!”

The clones’ only response was to increase their fire. Cursing, Anakin swerved away from the normal, direct route to Padmé’s apartment. He could not lead a bunch of trigger-happy clones to his wife’s doorstep!

What should have been a ten-minute dash to his wife’s apartment turned into an hour-long mad dash throughout the various districts of Coruscant. The planet had been deluged with clone troops in response to the Separatist attack, and few of those troops had left even as the clean-up had neared completion; they were everywhere, and the moment they spotted his fighter, they immediately began trying to shoot him down. 

_[What is this?]_ Artoo demanded with a shrill squeal as they struggled to lose yet another squad. _[Have their data processors been corrupted?]_

“I don’t know, buddy,” Anakin responded through gritted teeth as he bobbed and weaved between buildings. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t keep this up indefinitely, dodging fire from professional soldiers. Padmé needed him _now_. He had to protect her, had to save her. The Jedi won’t help her, would rather let her die than interfere with the ‘honor’ of becoming one with the Force, and he was beginning to suspect that the Sith can’t, for all of Palpatine’s assurances. That left him. He had to do something, _anything_.

He finally managed to evade his pursuers and made his way back to the Senate district. The heavy presence of troopers forced him to stay away from the primary traffic lanes, but he was finally able to make his way to the Senate Apartment Complex. Still fearful of his fighter being recognized, Anakin didn’t dare land at the apartment’s docking area, which forced him to land in the landing bay several levels down.

Snarling in impatience, Anakin leapt out of the fighter’s cockpit, not even bothering to shut the engines down. Artoo launched himself out of the droid socket, rolling quickly across the deck at Anakin’s heels. When Anakin rushed for the turbolift, Artoo squawked in protest. _[What if they are watching?]_ he demanded. _[Surveillance is thorough here; no time to disable everything.]_

“Kriff,” Anakin growled, knowing the droid was right. They’d have to take a different route. He turned on his heel and dove for the door that led to the stairwell. 

The ensuing climb was long, and Anakin forced himself to use a variety of methods to climb the levels of the complex. He took the stairs, leapt from balcony to balcony, and even held onto a maintenance droid that was cleaning the windows. Artoo, thankfully, was clever enough to keep up.

It couldn’t have taken more than fifteen minutes for Anakin to finally reach the penthouse, which comprised Padmé’s apartment, conference areas, and private docking area, but to him, it might as well have been an eternity. His heart continued to pound in his chest, terror tightened his throat, barely allowing him to breathe. When he and Artoo finally reached the primary doors to the apartment, Anakin froze.

The doors were open, and he could see the lower extremities of a body strewn across the threshold. “No,” he breathed, darting forward. It was one of Padmé’s security force. Anakin didn’t know the man’s name, but he knew his face. The man had been with her since before the war had begun. Stepping over the man’s body, Anakin pushed himself into the apartment.

Almost instantly, Anakin was hit with the nauseating, sickly stench of _death_. It was a scent the war had made him overly familiar with, but it shouldn’t have been here _oh Force not here not here_ , not here in his wife’s home, their haven, where she should have been safest. 

The entry hall was littered with half a dozen other members of the security force, and also with the corpses of clone troopers. Clones, members of the Coruscant Guard if he remembered the symbols on their armor correctly, had attacked Padme’s home. _What the hell has happened to them?_ he wondered as he continued forward.

The entire apartment looked as though a bomb had gone off. The art that Padmé had so tastefully decorated the apartment with had been smashed. The furniture had been tossed throughout the veranda, almost like they had been shoved everywhere in a haphazard attempt to set up a line of defense. The blaster scorch marks on them were not encouraging, nor were the smears of blood.

Anakin stumbled onto the veranda, past the cracked and leaking fountain, and gasped when he saw the crumpled form lying near the docking area. It wasn’t one of the security officers, or a clone trooper. It was a smaller, slighter figure, more feminine, clad in the finer fabrics worn by Naboo women.

 _No. No no no no no no._ Anakin hit his knees hard beside the body, his hands shaking as he reached out to push it over onto its back. _Please please please no,_ his mind raced.

The face was a black, sooty mess, the features made a complete ruin by what appeared to be a blaster shot at pointblank range. The woman’s black hair was singed from the shot –

Wait. _Black hair._ Padmé’s hair was dark, to be sure, but even when it was wet, it never reached more of a deep, dark brown in color. As he took a closer look at the woman, Anakin’s mind automatically began to catalogue the many identifying features. Black hair, dark skin, a small, round face – even if much of her features were gone – and tiny stature, tinier than Padmé.

This wasn’t his wife. It was Ellé, one of the two handmaidens that had come from Naboo in recent months. Padmé had introduced them to him shortly after his return to Coruscant, had even included them in the secret of their marriage and her pregnancy. Both were completely loyal and highly trained, Padmé had promised him, saying something about the oath that all handmaidens lived by. They would guard their secrets with their lives, would guard their _lives_. Having met many of Padmé’s previous handmaidens, he had believed her.

If Ellé was dead, and through obvious, violent means, then something more was going on. Padmé was in danger from more than just childbirth. 

The Supreme Chancellor of the Republic was a Sith Lord, Anakin had been an accessory in killing the Master of the Jedi Order, the clones had gone completely insane and were trying to shoot Jedi out of the sky and _to kill Senators in their own homes_.

“Padmé.” Her name came out of his mouth like he had been kicked in the stomach. “Padmé.” A little louder, a little stronger.

 _“Padmé!”_ The scream that ripped from his throat was inhuman, more like a wild animal. He tore himself away from Ellé’s body and stumbled deeper into the apartment, making for the bedroom he had shared with his wife far too infrequently since their marriage. He tripped over broken furniture and other things, but did not stop to look at just what those objects were. He hardly cared at the moment.

The stench in the bedroom was even worse than the rest of the apartment. It wasn’t the same, a headier, metallic scent hung in the air. A scent that, unfortunately, Anakin knew just as well as he knew the other scent. _Blood._

The origin of the smell was the bed. The bed where, just two nights ago, he had slept beside Padmé, curled around her, breathing in her scent with his flesh hand resting on her extended belly where he might feel their baby kicking, all in the hope that for once he would not dream of her and the baby screaming as they died. Now that haven had been completely destroyed. The entire bed was coated in blood and other fluids. At the side was a bucket of dark, viscous matter, also coated in blood.

Three years of war and thirteen years with the Jedi had given Anakin plenty of experience in keeping calm, but the sight before him was so horrible, so terrifying, that he stood no chance. His gorge literally flew out of his stomach and up his throat, and Anakin stumbled off to the left, retching violently. There was little in his stomach but acid – Force, when had he last bothered to eat? – so it was particularly painful on his esophagus as it came up. Tears blurred his vision he continued to heave, expelling whatever else insisted on coming out. 

When his stomach finally stopped its violent seizing, Anakin straightened and then leaned against the wall. He wiped the back of his shaking flesh hand over his mouth and blinked rapidly, trying to banish the moisture that blurred his eyesight. Now was not the time for tears, he growled to himself silently. Padmé was _not_ dead. He knew that much. There was no sensation of death in this room, nor the discordant feeling that came from recent violence. Something… no, Anakin _knew_ what had happened here. It didn’t take a fool to figure it out. Padmé had given birth. Their baby had been born, and they were both _still alive_.

But there still remained the evidence of the attack outside of the bedroom. While Padmé was giving birth, the clones, members of the Coruscant Guard, had attacked her security forces, had fought to get past them. Someone had ordered them to do so – because he could not think of any reason whatsoever for them to do so without someone commanding them to do it – but now he had to focus. He had to find his wife and baby. He had to protect them.

Anakin closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall back against the wall much as his weary body had. He reached out in the Force, seeking, searching. Ever since he’d returned home from the Outer Rim, Padmé’s presence in the Force had been almost like a beacon to him, shining even brighter than it normally did. Anakin had attributed it to their child’s power in the Force. 

Nothing. He gritted his teeth and tried again. Surely she could not have faded into the Force so fast simply through the act of her and their baby becoming two separate beings. Surely there was _something_ , some way for him to feel her presence…

Still nothing. The Force refused to lead him to his wife. He was just about to give up, to try and think of another way, when the Force shifted and rolled in his mind in a way that felt all too familiar. Anakin didn’t have time to react, to pull away, when suddenly images, sounds, sensations poured into his mind.

_Pain. Terrible pain. Padmé crying out as she clutched Ellé’s hand tightly in her own, sweat beading her forehead._

_A baby’s shrill, protesting cry. Moteé wiping the baby and wrapping it in a blanket._

_Blaster fire._

_Padmé’s terror._

_Captain Typho and another guard rushing in and all but lifting Padmé out of her bed._

_The struggle toward the docking area. Padmé being bundled into a speeder, Typho leaping in after her, covering her with his own body._

_Ellé standing next to the speeder, turning to take something from Moteé, only to be met with a blaster shot to the face._

_The speeder lurching away from the docking area, even as multiple blasters fired on it._

_Padmé screaming, louder and more terrified than he had ever heard her sound._

_A basket, carrying the sensation of unhappiness and fear. Moteé’s snarl of anger._

_What? What was this? What had she done?_

Even as Anakin finally broke from the visions, he was already running. Despair gave way to anger, furious rage.

Padmé had been betrayed. Moteé had turned on her, had killed Ellé, had tried to kill her mistress.

Moteé had their baby.

Anakin bolted out of the apartment, not acknowledging Artoo’s continued efforts to keep up with him. All he could see, all he could feel, was the presence of his child being slowly being carried off several levels down. 

All he could feel was Moteé, and her intention to lay her mistress’ child at her master’s feet. At Palpatine’s feet.

At the Sith’s feet.

Anakin did not notice the smell of smoke and fire rising in his wake as he tore out of Padmé’s apartment.

* * *

Anakin took little notice of his surroundings, letting it all blur past him as he raced down the stairwell of the building. His head pounded and his muscles ached from the exertions of the past several hours; he ignored them. All of his concentration was focused on the presence of his child, still moving away from him, but at a much slower pace. 

He caught up to her in an alley just behind the apartment complex, after abandoning the stairwell several floors up. Leaping down several balconies had actually proved quicker, though he had been forced to circle the building at least three times before the alley came into sight. He got there just as he spotted a cloaked figure struggling her way down the darkened passage, her movements hampered by the large basket in her arms. 

Anakin didn’t hesitate, springing off of the balcony he’d been balancing on, and landing several feet in front of her. Despite the hindrance of the basket, Moteé was still able to draw her blaster and aim it at him. When she saw his face, Anakin could feel the fear in her spike, and saw the emotion bloom on her thin, pale features.

“M-Master Skywalker,” she whispered, and her hand began to tremble.

Anakin gazed at her. He was furious, enraged, at this woman, and yet was also somehow calm. Padmé had trusted her, as she had trusted all of her handmaidens, from Sabé the decoy to Dormé the political activist. Padmé had trusted her with her life and with her secrets, even their marriage and the pregnancy. Such trust was not given lightly, Anakin knew. There was a bond between the handmaidens and their mistress. Anakin hadn’t entirely understood it, though Padmé had tried to explain it, and the nearest comparison that he could make was that it was something similar to the bond of trust between him and Obi-Wan. Each always trusted that the other would be there to watch their back, and thus never bothered to look. They never needed to. So it was with Padmé. She trusted and believed that her handmaidens would protect her back, and thus never looked to make sure they were doing so.

And this was how Moteé returned that trust. She killed one of her sisters, attacked her mistress, and stolen her mistress’ child – and for what? Padmé was revered by her people. What could possibly induce one of them to turn on her so violently?

“Moteé,” he replied, his voice barely rising above the distant din of speeders and emergency sirens. His voice sounded fairly calm, not overtly conveying his rage, but she must have sensed it all the same, because her fear did nothing but continue to rise. 

“How could you do this?” he asked, taking a step closer. The hand holding the blaster trembled even more. “How could you commit such a betrayal? _Why_ would you?”

“I-I-Sh-” the handmaiden stuttered, and then stopped. Anakin watched her eyes narrow as she took a deep breath, obviously trying to steady her nerves. “I am a loyal citizen of the Republic,” Moteé forced out in the calmest tone she could manage. “Senator Amidala was declared guilty of treason, and it is the duty of every loyal citizen to see that she is brought to justice.”

He stared at her. “Justice,” he snarled. “You call yourself a loyal citizen, but resort to murder and kidnapping?” He gave the basket, which Moteé still held against her hip with her free hand, a pointed look. His baby was in that basket, an innocent baby who had been ripped from its mother within minutes of its birth. Had a healer or physician examined the baby? What if the baby needed medical attention? Babies should surely be kept in a clean, healthy environment, and not be dragged through a filthy alley nor be forced to breathe the polluted air of Coruscant. 

“You took an oath to serve her,” Anakin growled. “Her, and only her. And yet here you are, taking her baby away like the very worst sort of thief.” He took another step forward. “And what trial did the Senator have? What evidence did a jury examine that allowed them to declare her guilt?”

“N-Not another step,” Moteé warned, tightening her grip on her weapon. “His Excellency the Chancellor has declared her guilty, and he will see to it that she is punished as she deserves.”

Anakin could feel his hands at his sides begin to shake. What calm he’d felt at the beginning of this meeting was fast fading away, replaced by anger. By rage. By fury. The _Chancellor_ had proclaimed her guilty? He who had promised just hours before to help save her life?

Anakin had been betrayed. Just as Moteé had betrayed Padmé, the Chancellor had betrayed him. He’d sought to destroy the person Anakin loved most, and now his servant was trying to take away their baby.

_Enough._

He had been taking veritable body blows all day. Learning the Chancellor’s true nature, watching Mace Windu throw aside the values he had claimed to serve and try to commit murder, facing the consequences of his wife giving birth, losing the baby to a spy’s betrayal. He was done with this, all of this.

In the end, it was remarkably easy. Anakin barely noticed the effort it took for the Force to jerk the blaster out of Moteé’s hand, flinging it into the shadows of the alley with a loud clatter. When the disgraced handmaiden began to back away, terror and panic filling her eyes, he barely had to direct the Force to hold her still, it seemed to act almost of its own volition. 

Holding her in place, Anakin crossed the remaining distance between them, coming a halt just inches from her. She _stank_ of fear, her eyes wide and locked with his own. A thought crossed his mind then, and Anakin needed no further invitation. Raising his hand to her face, he hissed at her with the Force lacing his voice, “What other secrets are you hiding, Moteé? What else have you done to betray my wife?”

He could see her throat working furiously, the words coming to the tip of her tongue, and yet she still resisted, struggled to keep them behind her teeth. Anakin snarled and pushed at her mind. “You _will_ speak.”

A faint whimper made it past her resistance, but nothing discernable. She still fought him. He didn’t really care. He’d been fought before in situations like this, and while it was irritating, Moteé was no Cad Bane. He pushed again, this time much, much harder, and this time, her resistance shattered –

– _“… Amidala has lost sight of her duty,” Palpatine says, his eyes and expression so, so sad. “Her ill-conceived dalliance with a Jedi Knight has put not just her own standing, but the reputation and status of Naboo itself, at great risk. The scandal of it could very well destroy Naboo’s alliances and trade agreements with other worlds and sectors. No one would wish to do business with a world that allows itself to be represented by a woman who violates her people’s rules and traditions for the sake of her own personal lusts.”_

_Moteé almost gapes at the older man, his silhouette dark against the bright light that pours in through the great window behind him. The great Amidala, their people’s savior, has become so selfish as to risk their people’s livelihoods for the sake of her own personal feelings? She has put her own needs ahead of the common good?_

_She straightens. If such is the case, then it is clear where her first allegiance must lie._

_“What do you require of me, Your Excellency?” –_

_–“delusional, Your Excellency,” Moteé says, shaking her head as she leans forward in her seat. “She is absolutely delusional. She does not see that this affair of hers can only end badly, for her and for our people, and blinds herself to just how unstable Skywalker is.”_

_The Chancellor eyes her curiously from behind his large desk. “I was under the impression that they had married.”_

_Moteé sniffs disdainfully. “In secret, under assumed names, and not officially recorded. Near as I’ve been able to determine, the only record of it is a scroll held by the priest who performed the ceremony. There is no civil documentation. It’s barely crossing the line into legal, and even then, I doubt it would hold up under a court of law.”_

_“Hm,” the Chancellor hums, leaning back in his seat and pressing his fingers together in a steeple. “If I did not know her so well, I’d think she went through with a sham marriage just so she could keep the boy at her side like a faithful dog.” –_

_–“Pregnant?” The Chancellor hisses, his eyes glowing within the shadow of his cowl. His hand lashes out, fast as a striking snake, and he grips Moteé’s chin._

_She flinches from the pain of his fingers digging into her skin, but manages to reply, “Y-Yes, my lord. The Senator carries Skywalker’s child.”_

_He does not release his grasp, but in fact tightens it. The smirk that crosses his lips is one of pure triumph. –_

_– The senator stumbles as she walks across the veranda, her hand falling down to her swollen belly on instinct. Moteé cannot restrain a gasp when she sees a wetness beginning to stain the skirt of her aqua gown. So soon? Too soon? –_

_– The senator cries out, clutching Moteé’s hand in a bone-breaking grip as the contractions rip through her body. Fear clouds the other woman’s sweaty face, and Moteé cannot help but share it. It isn’t supposed to happen like this, certainly not now. –_

_– It is Ellé who catches the child as it slides from its mother’s body. It is Ellé who cries out, “A boy!”_

_The senator, though exhausted, manages a small laugh, and whispers, “Luke… I-” Whatever else she was going to say is cut off when another contraction grips her. –_

_– Blaster fire, not far away from the Senator’s apartment. What is going_ on _? –_

_– This time it is Moteé who catches the child that emerges from the senator’s body. “A girl,” she says quietly._

_She barely hears the Senator’s reply of, “Leia,” above the battle being waged in the corridors just outside the apartment. –_

_– “What is going on?” the Senator demands as Typho and one of her security guards lift her out of bed._

_“We’re under attack, my lady,” Typho responds as both he and the guard began to carry her out of the bedroom._

_“From whom?” Moteé can hardly hear her above the continuing shouts and weapons fire. She hurries along behind them, carrying the crying twins in a basket that had been hurriedly lined with towels and sheets._

_“The Coruscant Guard, Senator,” the captain tells her as they make their way out onto the veranda. They’re moving toward a speeder, which sits waiting in the docking area, another guard already in the driver’s seat. “They claim you’ve been found guilty of treason and are subject to immediate execution, per the orders of the Supreme Chancellor!”_

_Moteé nearly stops dead there, scarcely hearing the Senator’s sputters and denials. It’s_ time _, she exults. Time for the Senator to reap what she has sewn; time to end her corruption, time to end her traitorous life. –_

_– The blaster is in her hand before she even fully comprehends what she is doing. The first shot hits Ellé just as she turns to take the basket so as to load it into the speeder, and she drops to the deck, her face a blistered, blackened ruin. A pity._

_The second shot hits Typho in the shoulder as he throws his body over the Senator’s._

_The third, fourth, and fifth shots all bounce harmlessly off the speeder’s hull as it veers wildly away from the docking area, even as the Senator screams for her children, demanding to know where they are._

_Moteé is torn between fury and fear. She has failed her master’s will to have the senator destroyed, has destroyed any chance of ever getting close to the woman to try again, having completely blown her cover._

_The sound of the babies shrieking slowly gets her attention. She stares down at the squalling infants, and an idea begins to form in her head._

_Perhaps delivering them to her master will offset her failure. Let her master claim him for his future work, let them become extensions of his will, as all his good servants should be. Let them –_

Anakin snarled, and suddenly his metal hand was wrapped tightly around Moteé’s neck. “ _Traitor_!” he howled, his grip tightening more and more. She _dared_ to betray him and his family, she _dared_ to plan to hand his children over to become _slaves_ , she _dared_ –

The audible sound of bones cracking hit him slowly, and it took a moment for him to comprehend just what it was. He stared at Moteé’s slack face, her head lolling awkwardly to the right. Her struggles to breathe past his grip had ceased, and her hands fell empty to her sides.

_Empty. The basket._

Panic shot through Anakin now, dispelling the anger. He tossed Moteé’s corpse aside and he looked down at the basket, which now sat at his feet. Now that he was focused, he began to hear the unhappy cries that he had been deaf to just moments before. Frantic, he knelt down beside it, hardly daring to breathe as he reached forward to lift up the blanket –

Inside were two – _two!_ – babies, both crying and wiggling in their blankets, projecting their displeasure at their current circumstances through the Force as loudly as they could. Anakin stared at them in awe. “Luke,” he whispered. “Leia.” Only now did he comprehend what else he had seen in Moteé’s mind, beyond her traitorous behavior with the Chancellor.

Twins. He and Padmé had had _twins_. A boy _and_ a girl.

“We were both right, Padmé,” he breathed. “We were both right.”

The twins’ cries seemed to grow louder in his ears, and Anakin suddenly realized the vulnerability of their current situation. They were in a dark alley right next to a building that had just been raided and attacked by the Coruscant Guard, and now he could smell the acrid scent of something burning. Anakin looked up, and gaped at the thick, black smoke pouring out of the top of the apartment complex – Padmé’s apartment. 

_How did that happen?_ he wondered, and then shook the thought off. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting away from here. No doubt the emergency services would arrive any minute to douse the blaze. 

Grasping the basket in his hands, Anakin stood up. “Shh,” he whispered to his crying son and daughter, “it’ll be alright, little ones.” Using the Force to tuck the blanket around them, Anakin turned on his heel and walked away, leaving behind the corpse of a traitor to lie in the alley’s filth.

He didn’t give her another thought.

* * *

Anakin didn’t dare return to his fighter. Jedi Starfighters were easily noticed and tracked, and although he had seemingly evaded his earlier pursuers, he knew they would still be hunting him, and the fighter was like a beacon. Using it would bring them right back to him, to _the twins_.

An enormous part of him wanted to simply sit down and bask in the deceptively simple fact that he was a father, that he and Padmé had created these two beautiful beings. For the first time, he didn’t resent the idea of sitting still, but instead longed for it.

But now was not the time. His family was in danger. He had to get the children someplace safe, and then go find their mother.

It was remarkably easy to steal a speeder, with a little help from Artoo. It was black and nondescript, allowing Anakin to slip unnoticed into the traffic lanes. As he did so, he pondered where he should go. Naboo’s embassy? _No_ , he shook his head, dismissing the notion. Though it was possible that Padmé had taken refuge there, he knew that Naboo’s sovereignty was a thin protection, at best. The recent policy changes that the Senate had put through had seen to it that Judicial forces had the right to enter embassies without regard to the world’s sovereignty if they were in pursuit of spies or other seditious persons related to the Separatists.

When Anakin had first heard of it, he had approved, thinking that it would help the Chancellor, his _friend_ , prosecute and end the war more quickly. That had to come first, he’d always thought – end the war, and keep more of his men from dying. If a couple of disgruntled politicians shrieked about it, well, then obviously they cared more for _politics_ than for those who had been bleeding for the Republic’s survival. 

But then _Padmé_ had started saying things, wanting the army to back away and let the politicians take over. Even now, Anakin could still practically _taste_ the fury and distaste that had risen up in him when she had pleaded with him to talk to the Chancellor about “letting diplomacy resume”. His anger had probably been the only thing that had kept him from laughing in her face. Diplomacy? Politicians? Hadn’t three years of bloody war and constant attempts to murder her taught her that there was no negotiating with the Separatists? The only way to end this was to beat them down until they stopped trying to get back up. 

Now, though… 

Everything he had believed – that the war would only end through force of arms, that the Senate and its politicians were worse than useless and needed to be forced to do their jobs correctly by someone strong, someone wise – was all in question. How many times had he and Palpatine had these discussions over the years? When he’d still been a Padawan and had begun going on missions with Obi-Wan, exposing him to the horrors and sins that lay beneath the Republic’s shiny surface, he had been horrified. _This_ was the great Galactic Republic? _This_ was what the slaves and the downtrodden of the Outer Rim looked toward with such hope?

How many times had he brought his disbelief and disgust to Palpatine, wanting to know _why_ children on Ryloth starved while Senator Orn Free Taa gorged himself on every known delicacy to be found on Coruscant, _why_ beings were forced into prostitution and other horrible occupations that were clearly against the law and yet were permitted to flourish by the very beings meant to stop them, _why why why_?

And how many times had the Chancellor given him a sad look and gentle pat on the shoulder, saying things like, “I understand your frustration, son,” or “It is indeed a disgrace, Anakin,” or “Under the current system, there’s so little I can do to stop it, my friend”? For years, Anakin had felt so much sympathy for Palpatine, despising how he was chained by bureaucracy and filibusters and corruption and _rules_ that prevented him from doing what was right, what _needed to be done_.

Now… everything was cast into confusion, into doubt. Palpatine was a Sith Lord, was behind this war that had destroyed so much, that had drenched the galaxy in the blood of the men bred specifically for war. Palpatine, who had promised to save Padmé’s life and their child, no, children’s lives. But it was all a lie. Padmé had given birth just fine. She was alive, he knew that. He _knew_. Any other outcome was unacceptable. But she was also still in danger. Only the Chancellor could order the Coruscant Guard, and it had been the bodies of the Guard that had littered Padmé’s apartment alongside many of her own security forces. 

The Chancellor was responsible for _everything_. And Anakin had been blind to it. Obi-Wan had warned him. Padmé had warned him. He hadn’t listened.

 _No._ He shook his head violently, squeezing the speeder controls so tightly that he could hear a faint crack under the strength of his mechanical hand. He had to stop thinking of these things and focus on the present. 

The Naboo Embassy wouldn’t be able to protect him, not long enough for him to make any headway in finding Padmé or getting the twins to safety in any case. Given the likelihood that the Republic Navy had orders to detain any Jedi they came across, if not outright kill them like the clones seemed to be intent on doing, then that left him with only one other choice for potential sanctuary – the Jedi Temple.

His hands flying over the controls, Anakin put the Temple’s coordinates into the nav-computer. He didn’t dare make a mad dash through traffic, as it would draw attention to him and the speeder, attention which could be deadly at this point. Once the coordinates were set, he said quietly, “You got the controls, Artoo?”

A muted, solemn _[Yes.]_ was his response, and it was all Anakin needed. Releasing a deep breath, Anakin sank back in the pilot’s seat, closing his eyes. His head ached something fierce right now, and he wanted nothing more than to just _sleep_ – kriff, when was the last time he’d actually had a good night’s sleep? – but he couldn’t afford to. Not yet.

A gurgle to his right caught his attention and he turned, opening his eyes. The twins had calmed down once they left the filthy alley – and their dead abductor – behind. Now they were lying calmly in the basket. One was quiet and unmoving, while the other was squirming in place, looking like he – or she? Anakin hadn’t had the opportunity to determine which twin was which – was trying to free himself – herself? – from the swaddling blanket. 

Cautiously, Anakin reached out, laying his flesh hand on the shifting infant’s chest and then tugging just a little on the blanket, loosening the wrappings just a little. Within moments, the baby relaxed. Anakin grinned, reaching up to brush his fingers along the baby’s soft cheek. The baby cooed in response. He was about to reach over to do the same to his other child when Artoo let out a high-pitched squeal.

Anakin instantly pulled away and turned back to what lay ahead, and gasped.

The Jedi Temple was on fire.

“Kriffing hells,” he breathed. “Artoo, what the fuck is going on?!”

 _[Unknown!]_ Artoo shrilled, his dome turning rapidly back and forth. [Local traffic ordinances have directed all speeder transportation routes away from Temple airspace. No further information available from public sources.]

Anakin leaned forward, trying to get a better view through the thick, black smoke. It was clear there had been some kind of attack, but who? His first thought went immediately to the Coruscant Guard, but he quickly dismissed it. There was no way the Guard could have caused such chaos. Their number was too small to penetrate the Temple.

 _But a_ Legion _could_ … A cold, sick feeling began to roll in his stomach. “Artoo,” he said, “find us a landing spot near the Temple. We’re going in quietly.”

* * *

Going in quietly was surprisingly, no, _disturbingly_ easy. Security in and around the Jedi Temple had been tightened significantly since the war started, and particularly after Cad Bane’s theft of the holocron. It should have been nigh impossible for Anakin to sneak into the Temple alone, much less with an astromech and two newborns. 

Instead, Anakin had no problem slipping into the building via the deserted gardens. Of course, when he did, he almost instantly regretted it. Though they had made it past the smoke that permeated the air outside, on the inside, the Temple stank of _death_. The Force was _saturated_ with it. Not expecting it, Anakin staggered, nearly falling and dropping the basket carrying the twins. The twins themselves seemed to sense the horror of the surroundings, and they both began to make whimpering noises that promised to turn into full blown screaming.

Glancing around, terrified that the invaders, Anakin reached into the basket and rubbed the twins’ chests and whispered as soothingly as he could. “Shh, there, there, little ones,” he breathed. “It’ll be okay.” Slowly, carefully, Anakin opened himself to the Force, intending to wrap the twins in it, wrap them in love to keep them peaceful and quiet –

– and nearly fell yet again. It took every ounce of control he had to keep himself from screaming. The Force, normally so calm and serene in the Temple, was a seething quagmire of pain, of suffering, of… betrayal? It felt as though everyone in the Temple had had some great treachery visited on them. Why?

He shook his head, struggling to separate himself from this tidal wave of sensation. He had to stay focused, had to concentrate on getting the twins off of Coruscant and away from everyone who might try to hurt them. He couldn’t collapse under the weight of everything else. 

_[Are the subunits functional?]_ Artoo chirped a question, catching Anakin’s attention.

He glanced at his little droid friend and forced himself to nod. “Yeah, I think they’re okay, for the moment.” Straightening, he tightened his grip on the basket. “We’ve got to get to a hangar, Artoo, and get off-planet. Once we find a safe place to hide them, we’ll come back and find Padmé.” He began walking further into the Temple, doing his best to keep to the shadows and thus out of sight. “I just hope she hasn’t been captured,” he muttered.

 _[Threepio wasn’t in the Senator’s apartment,]_ Artoo told him. _[Would have been left behind if clones had taken her away? He is with her?]_

“Hopefully,” Anakin nodded. 

They moved in relative silence after that. Anakin did his best to move quickly, tried to stretch out his senses to discover any waiting dangers while shielding the twins from the Force’s roiling agony at the same time. The war had given Anakin plenty of experience in splitting his focus, but this was difficult all the same.

It only got worse when they made their way into some of the larger corridors of the Temple. It was there that he started to find the bodies. 

Only a few at first, but as he moved further and further in, there were more. Old masters, ones too old to have been in the field with the armies, knights who had been on the injured lists. They’d fallen where they stood, their clothing blackened by blaster scoring. Anakin struggled to choke back his grief, and forced himself to keep walking. 

When he saw some of the older initiates with their training ‘sabers, he couldn’t hold back a pained moan. 

When he saw the dead clones, ones whose armor bore familiar blue markings, Anakin was sure he’d been shot himself. It had been _his_ men who had done this. _His men_. The Five-Oh-First Legion, who held their honor so highly. What had _happened_ to them?

There was nothing he could do now, except keep walking. Even as he did his best to hold back his grief.

Anakin avoided the Temple’s primary hangar, fearing it might be under tight guard, and instead chose one of the smaller, secondary hangars. After peering inside cautiously, he was relieved to see that it appeared deserted. He could sense no other presence nearby either. “Come on, Artoo,” he said, nodding toward one of the three ships occupying the space. “We need to get out of here quick.”

As they crossed the hangar deck, Anakin noticed a large stack of cases, which he recognized as carrying foodstuffs and other survival supplies. Making note of it, Anakin followed Artoo up the lowered ramp of one of the ships. “Star the pre-flight functions and get the engines warmed up,” he told the droid. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

A sharp, affirming whistle was Artoo’s only response as he wheeled quickly toward the cockpit. Turning toward the main cabin, Anakin carefully set the basket down in one of the seats before reaching for the crash-webbing. The safety harness wasn’t exactly made for infants in a basket, but with some measure of creativity, he was able to secure the twins solidly. He hoped to make a smooth getaway from Coruscant, but given the presence of the fleet surrounding the planet, he could not count on it. The twins had to be secured in the event of a bumpy ride.

Once he finished, Anakin stood up and hurried back down the ramp, moving toward the supplies he had spotted. He was grateful to discover that the supplies had been stacked on antigrav sleds, allowing him to move them easily onboard. He made three trips in quick succession, the sound of his work muffled by the ship going through its pre-flight warmup. 

Once he finished putting the third set of supplies in the small cargo area, Anakin turned on his heel, hoping to make one last supply run, only to stop dead. The Force came over him in a slow, cold crawl, making him shiver. Hearing the twins begin to murmur fretfully in the primary cabin, he forced himself forward, sweeping the Force toward them in a wave of warmth and love and comfort, pushing the sinister chill away from them. Thankfully, they grew quiet again. 

He looked toward the ramp, and could see a series of swiftly darting shadows on the deck outside. It didn’t take a genius to know who was out there, and who was likely with him. 

Anakin clenched his jaw. Taking a few quick steps toward the cockpit, he hissed, “Artoo, we’ve got company! Get ready to get us out of here!” He then turned and moved back toward the ramp. Taking a deep breath, he walked down into the hangar.

It took him only an instant to locate Palpatine, who was standing several feet away with a squad of clone troopers. All of them bore the marks of the Five-Oh-First, and all of them were pointing their blasters at him. At _him_ , their general.

“Ah, Anakin,” Palpatine greeted him, his tone jovial and completely unconcerned by the fact that they were standing in a building that was littered with the corpses of Jedi and the clones who had murdered them. “I am so delighted to have found you.”

Anakin glared at him, his hands clenching into fists at his side. It was the first time he’d really focused on the Chancellor’s appearance since they’d been together in the older man’s office, and it was all he could do to keep his horror off his face. Palpatine’s face was a waxy ruin, ghostly pale and almost reptilian in its destruction. Swallowing his disgust, he bit out, “I sincerely doubt that, Sith.”

Was it his imagination, or did the clones twitch just a little when he identified Palpatine as a Sith Lord? He didn’t dare hope.

The Chancellor’s beaming smile didn’t waver in the face of Anakin’s distrust. “Come now, my boy. I understand your shock – you’ve had quite a time of it – but no matter my… religious preferences… my goal remains as it has always been: the safety and security of the Republic.”

He sounded so normal, so reasonable. Such tones had always soothed Anakin’s many worries and frustrations, but now… now he felt sickened. The man’s words were poison in his ears. “You want only to destroy the Republic,” Anakin growled. “It’s what you’ve been doing for the past three, no, _thirteen_ years! You pushed for the invasion of Naboo, _your own kriffing homeworld_ , you threw old Valorum out of office, you set the galaxy on fire with a war, you did something to my men, _you sent the Guard to attack Padmé_!” That last phrase came out of Anakin’s mouth like the howl of a wounded animal.

“The Republic is an abyss of tyranny and decadence, Anakin,” Palpatine replied, still managing to sound patient and at ease in contrast to Anakin’s own emotional state. “I seek only to transform it into something far more just and great, to bring the galaxy into a new age of safety and security. And as for Senator Amidala…” He trailed off and his ruined face seemed to twitch, as though it was trying to project a sympathetic expression. It didn’t work.

“I’m sorry, Anakin,” he said. “I was informed that she had committed treason. She had to be taken into custody, but she directed her own people to resist the Guard’s efforts while she sought to escape. When they pursued her, she… she crashed her speeder rather than be taken alive.”

Anakin felt as though a bantha had kicked him. Hard. “ _Lies_ ,” he hissed. “You’re lying!” Padmé was no traitor! Even if she had expressed doubts in the Republic, doubts in Palpatine – which he now saw that she had been right about – she would never betray the government she had given her life to!

This time Palpatine did not respond to him in words. Instead he reached within his robes and pulled out a small, handheld imager. With a single click of a button, a hologram appeared, complete with sound. The image was filled with smoke, but it still wasn’t difficult to make out the burnt and shattered remains of a chrome-plated speeder.

_“… positive identification. The speeder is registered to Senator Padmé Amidala. As reported earlier, the speeder was deliberately crashed into a seemingly abandoned fuel station in The Works. The subsequent explosions has caused massive fires in the area, but emergency workers have managed to pull three bodies from the wreckage…”_

Anakin felt as though all of the air had been sucked from his lungs. _No_ , he thought. _She can’t be… I’d know…_ “No.” The word fell off his lips as barely more than a whisper. His knees buckled and hit the cold deck, causing him to slump forward onto his hands. “ _No_!” Now he screamed. Screamed, howled, railed, cried. He did all of this, and yet more. 

“There, there, my friend,” Palpatine said, suddenly having appeared next to him. Anakin shuddered in revulsion when the older man laid his hands on his shoulders. “All will be well, for you and your _child_.” There was such… _glee_ in his tone when he said the word. “Soon you will learn the power to protect what is yours, and will never suffer so horribly again. Together, you and I will bring stability to the galaxy, and one day, your child will join our new order. It will be glorious.”

The Chancellor spoke of bringing stability, of preventing further suffering, as he had so many times over the years, and Anakin had always believed it. Now, though… Now Anakin could only feel the man’s hands on his shoulders. It was not a comforting sensation. Instead, it felt… stifling, confining, binding.

He felt as though he was being chained, being… _enslaved_.

Anakin had been a slave as a boy, and had often felt sometimes like a slave of the Jedi. Now, it felt as though he was on the verge of being enslaved for a third time. Enslaved to the _Sith_.

Slowly, he looked up at the monster in front of him. In the steadiest, most determined voice he could manage, Anakin snarled, “I’ll never join you!”

Palpatine appeared more amused than anything. “Ah, Anakin, if only you knew the power of the Dark Side,” he said, his tone distinctly patronizing. “But no fear, you will know it soon enough. You and the child. I –”

What else the man planned on saying, Anakin didn’t know, or care. He was done. Done with being manipulated, done being used as a commodity, done with women he loved being murdered, done with threats to his children. Done, done, done _done done done done_ –

It wasn’t the cold of Palpatine’s Force presence that eventually broke Anakin free of his grief, nor the dull sense of fear that permeated the clones despite the sense of restriction that surrounded their thoughts. It wasn’t the howling winds that swept through the hangar, knocking containers and equipment over and sliding them in a massive storm of chaos.

No, it was the sound of two crying children that caused Anakin to stop and look up, towards the waiting ship. The twins. His children. Padmé’s children.

He took a quick glance around. The sudden chaos that had engulfed the hangar had either knocked the clone troopers off their feet or required them to seek some kind of shelter. Even Palpatine had been forced back several steps. In any case, all of them had been distracted. 

A part of him railed against leaving his men in the thrall of this monster, but Anakin knew that at the moment there was nothing he could do for them. To stay was to be enslaved along with them, and the twins would also suffer the same fate. There was only one choice left.

Anakin threw himself backward, turning on his heel, and raced for the open ramp of the ship.

He was fast, but not fast enough to beat the blasterfire that erupted behind him. He should have expected it, really. The Five-Oh-First were among the best in the entire GAR. They knew how to keep their heads in adverse conditions and bring the attack to the enemy. 

Anakin just never thought the day would come when _he_ would be considered an enemy in their eyes.

Still, he managed to make it up the ramp without being shot – he’d wonder about that later – and hit the controls as he dove past them. He didn’t wait to see the airlock close and the ramp raise up, instead bolting for the cockpit, not even pausing to calm the screaming twins. “Artoo, get us out of here!” He shouted.

The ship was already moving toward the hangar exit when Anakin burst into the cockpit. Throwing himself into the pilot’s seat, he quickly took control. As he did so, movement caught his eye from the corner of the cockpit’s viewport. He quickly glanced at his scanners, and his jaw dropped.

“Artoo? Are those the other two ships that were in the hangar?” Anakin demanded.

 _[Affirmative. Ships are on autopilot, set to match our course and speed,]_ the droid informed him. _[Current course for debris field.]_

The debris field. Anakin’s thoughts raced and he caught on to what Artoo had in mind. The debris field that surrounded much of Coruscant had been a result of the battle, and despite it happening weeks ago, not all of it had been cleared out yet. The clean-up crews had focused on wreckage that would prove dangerous to the planet, fragments that would survive entering entry through the atmosphere and thus damage the city surface. That left a great deal that had yet to be picked up, and much of it had coalesced into a field so thick that it resembled an asteroid field.

It might be just enough to cover his escape, and with the two decoy ships…

“Right,” Anakin said, his hands flying over the controls in front of him. “Adjust heading to two-mark-five-seven-mark-six.” As the ship shifted beneath his hands, he noticed the two other ships veering alongside him. “Good,” he breathed, more to himself than to Artoo. “Steady…”

Within moments, they made it into orbit and Anakin immediately took notice of their new surroundings. They had come up in a small space that had been cleared, but he could easily see the debris field just a few hundred kilometers away.

He could also see several Star Destroyers that were also orbiting the planet. Gritting his teeth in concentration, Anakin increased his speed. The debris field would provide more than adequate cover until he was at the optimum distance to make the jump to lightspeed, but only once he got there. Until then, he was in an area of no cover and a perfect target for every single ship that was turning in his direction.

Static burst from the comm unit, only to clear up enough for a familiar voice to come through. _“Attention unauthorized shuttles,”_ came the voice of Willf Yularen, _“you are in violation of Coruscanti airspace. Shut down your engines and any weapons systems and prepare to be boarded.”_

Anakin ignored the message. Though he considered the Admiral an ally, after seeing what had become of the Five-Oh-First, the men he had trusted with his life, with _Padmé’s_ life, he didn’t dare risk it. He continued on his course.

 _“I repeat, this is Admiral Yularen of the_ Resolute. _You are in violation of Coruscanti airspace. Shut down your engines and any weapons systems and prepare to be boarded.”_

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Repeating yourself word for word and expecting a different outcome isn’t going to help things,” he muttered. He might have said more, but the Force chose that moment to shout a warning, causing him to instantly jerk the ship higher into the atmosphere to avoid the shot that had just been fired at him. Glancing again in the direction of the Star Destroyers – now it was fairly easy to pick out the _Resolute_ \- he cursed under his breath when he saw seven, no, eight fighters flying toward him. 

Yularen’s voice came over the comm again. _“Unauthorized shuttles, stand down immediately or you_ will _be –”_

With an impatient growl, Anakin slapped a button on the comm, opening a channel. “Damn it, Admiral,” he shouted, “I will _not_ be trussed up in chains and sent before a firing squad of my own men!”

There was a moment of shocked silence before the Admiral’s stuttered reply of, _“G-General Skywalker?!”_ was cut off by the sudden barrage of blaster fire from the fighters. The viewport lit up from the weapons’ fire and Anakin cursed again, increasing his speed. 

“Almost there,” he muttered.

 _[Shields failing on both escort ships,]_ Artoo supplied.

“Almost… there! We’re in!” Anakin shouted, relief flooding him. Still, he couldn’t let his concentration waver. They were in the debris field. Now they had to get through it. He was confident of his ability to fly through the detritus, but then, he was also confident in the abilities of the men pursuing him. He’d trained with them over the course of the war. They were excellent pilots to begin with, and they’d only grown better throughout the war. 

Explosions lit up the outside of the viewport, and Anakin didn’t need Artoo to tell him that their escort ships weren’t going to last much longer. He sank himself into the bruised and painful entity that made up the Force, ignoring the agony and letting it guide his hands as he flew through the debris. He swerved and dipped the ship, avoiding the wreckage that surrounded him.

 _[Shields gone on both escort ships,]_ Artoo chirped. _[One more shot for each will result in complete destruction.]_

“Got it, Artoo,” Anakin responded. Keeping one hand on the piloting controls, he reached for the weapons’ systems. “Arming proton torpedoes,” he murmured. “Lightspeed jump calculated?”

_[Affirmative.]_

Good. They would only get one shot at this. Anakin could feel the presence of the pilots in their fighters, their minds much like the troopers he’d seen in the hangar bay. He still didn’t know what it meant, but at the moment, they were beyond his ability to help. Right now, he could only run. 

They were almost to the edge of the debris field. Anakin could see the detritus beginning to clear. “Get ready,” he warned. “Almost…”

They cleared the field. So did their pursuers. He could almost _see_ their fingers pressing on their weapons’ consoles, preparing to fire again and end this. 

They made their shot. Anakin launched the torpedoes right at the two escort ships. “ _Now!_ ” he roared. “Go!”

The normal streak of stars that indicated lightspeed was subsumed in the white hot light of the explosion.

* * *

In the years to come, Darth Sidious would look back on this day with mixed emotions. On the one hand, he had finally executed the Sith's long-planned revenge upon the Jedi. Oh, he would long remember the Force's screams as the Jedi were cut down by the dozen throughout the galaxy by their own troops, and he would smile whenever he thought of it. He delighted in finally being able to walk into the Jedi Temple not as the beleaguered Chancellor seeking the aid of the Jedi Council, but as a Sith conqueror. He had claimed his rightful position of Emperor, throwing the last bit of dirt upon the grave of the Galactic Republic. 

However, he had not yet achieved all that he had set out to achieve. Not all of the inhabitants of the Jedi Temple had fallen to the blasters of the Five-Oh-First. Many of the Jedi brats that lived there had managed to escape, even making it past the blockade around Coruscant. Still, he would find them, would see them hunted down and exterminated like the rodents they were. 

Perhaps most importantly, he did not have his chosen apprentice. He had been grooming Anakin Skywalker for the better part of _thirteen years_ to become the greatest Sith weapon yet seen, the instrument of his will upon the galaxy. Darth Vader would strike terror into all who would seek to oppose Sidious' Empire, and bring all resistance to its knees. Instead, the boy had resisted, thanks to that _leman_ of his, because of the boy's obsession with her. 

Admittedly, Sidious had perhaps miscalculated in declaring her a traitor and unleashing the Coruscant Guard upon her, for those actions had served only to drive Skywalker further away from him, as he had not yet discovered a way to spin the situation fully to his advantage before confronting the boy. In the end, he had lost him, and the boy's child, the child which could have been a great asset in its own right. The pilots who had destroyed the boy's ship suffered _dearly_ for their actions, even if they had been under the aegis of Order Sixty-Six.

At least Amidala was dead. That was one advantage, at least. He could deal with the likes of Mothma, of Organa, of Chuchi. Amidala had always been far more dangerous than the rest of the irritating pacifists within the Senate. 

He would have to change his plans, of course. His Inquisitors would have to be trained quickly, for it would be they who would have to serve as extensions of his will upon the Force and the galaxy. He would have to move fast to strengthen his grip upon his new empire, to not allow time for his remaining opponents to regroup and seek to thwart him. 

So much to do. 

Sidious would remember all of this in the years to come. And he would one day curse himself for his shortsightedness.

* * *

In the years to come, the long, circular route that Anakin and Artoo plotted to Tatooine would be a blur in his memory. He spent much of the trip making repairs to the ship, changing the ship’s registration signals so that they would not be tracked. He had no way of know if the trick covering their escape had worked or not, so Anakin took no chances.

It took several hours of hard work, but Anakin was, thankfully, able to coax the food processors into making infant formula for the twins. It was hard, as the processors were not programed to feed infants. The Jedi did not claim children until they were older, closer to eating solid foods which were more easily procured. 

Anakin knew he was taking a risk, going to Tatooine, but it was his best chance to hide. Palpatine knew how much Anakin despised his home world, knew of the horrors Anakin had both suffered and perpetuated there. So Anakin was hoping that, in light of that knowledge, Palpatine would dismiss Tatooine as a possible hiding place that Anakin might use if he had not been fooled by the explosion masking their jump to lightspeed. 

He purposely kept himself busy with all of this, allowing himself as little time as possible to think of other things. He couldn’t bear to think too closely on Padmé. His angel was dead. He forced his mind to accept it, but that did nothing for his emotions, and he could not bear to touch on those now. If he did, he might just destroy the ship around him.

He barely slept, he barely ate, and so when he and Artoo finally landed the ship at a moisture farm not far outside of the Anchorhead settlement, Anakin’s strength was all but gone. He gathered the twins up, returning them to the basket that had been their mother’s only gift to them, and carefully carried them down the ramp and into the light of a Tatooine suns-set. 

Two people appeared to meet him, climbing the steps out of the main dome of the farmhouse. Anakin’s mind was so weary, it took him a moment to recognize them. The burly man about Anakin’s age was Owen Lars. His step-brother. The small, kind-looking woman next to him was Beru, Owen’s girlfriend.

 _Might be more than a girlfriend at this point,_ Anakin thought vaguely. It had been over three years since he’d seen them last, after all.

He trudged toward them, barely able to pick his feet up off the ground. Just before he reached them, the toe of his boot skidded along the sandy surface and he tripped. The basket carrying his children flew from his hands and straight toward the couple in front of them. Panic gripped Anakin as he fell to his knees, and he could not stop himself from sobbing with relief when Owen and Beru managed to catch the basket in mid-air. 

“Help me,” Anakin gasped out as he continued to sink to the dry ground. “Please…”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Precipice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10821675) by [kmary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmary/pseuds/kmary)




End file.
